


Locked In

by Fluphies



Category: Degrassi
Genre: Angst, M/M, post-breakup triles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:11:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3403253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluphies/pseuds/Fluphies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles and Tristan end up locked in the storage room purely as a plot device. The door is broken for no apparent reason, neither of them have working phones, and nobody hears them calling for help because it makes things more difficult to everyone. And there’s a lot of dialogue even though Tristan claims he doesn’t want to talk. Post-breakup Triles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked In

**Author's Note:**

> This is a hot mess, but the idea was stuck in my head. It also ended up longer than planned. oops...

Miles did not want to spend his lunch running errands for Simpson, but he agreed anyways. Simpson claimed it was a way to make up for his poor attendance over the past couple of weeks and since the fire was deemed an “electrical accident,” Miles’ guilt led him to cater to most school authority. Today after scarfing down a turkey sandwich, he was on his way to the storage room in order to find some decorations for the assembly later, and if Miles knew anything about assemblies, it’s that they’re bad luck. They either involve someone falling or his boyfriend breaking up with him.

The storage room was fairly large with shelves from the floor to the ceiling and piles of props laying about, including an old 90s-esque sofa that had probably been used in every play at Degrassi in the past twenty years. When Miles found his way to the room, the door was already cracked open, held there by a small plank of wood. With a click, Miles shut the door behind him and had busied himself searching, when he heard shuffling in the aisle adjacent. From where he stood, all he caught was a glimpse of brunette hair in between shelves, yet it was still enough to recognize who it was. Tristan. Miles had spent the entire first period observing the back of his head, pretending he was zoning out just to take in every detail, from the way his pale neck contrasted to the way his ears were slightly red from the sun, so he was sure it was him. If dying his hair was Tristan’s attempt to get attention, it was working because change really makes you take a step back and see things as they are. He had always been the boy with bleach blonde hair, for as long as Miles knew him, but Miles never thought of him as just the color of his hair. Tristan was his slightly passive aggressive roommate in Paris, his basketball buddy, and his very first boyfriend. He’d always just kind of been there; through girlfriends and fights and good times. But what his new look meant was that it had all changed.

In a sad attempt at getting his ex’s attention, Miles jangled with some bells hanging off the shelf. The outcome was pathetic, earning a mere glance from Tristan’s blue eyes before he went back to pulling boxes down from above him. Miles took a breath of courage before walking around the aisle and over to Tristan earning the same pathetic outcome as the first attempt except this time the other boy didn’t even look his way. “So what are you doing?”

“None of your business,” Tristan snapped, not sparing him an ounce of attention. Granted, Miles kinda deserved it, and even the grandest apology wouldn’t make up for the way he acted.

Tristan hoisted the stack of boxes up into his arms, using the side of his face as a backboard.

“Lemme help,” Miles offered, trying to steady the tower in the other boys arms.

“No thanks,” Tristan tried to shoulder his way past, “I got this.”

Miles went to speak again, another attempt to aid, and was cut brutally short as the bell rang signalling class to have started.

“Great, now I’m late thanks to you,” was Tristan’s remark as he stomped over to the door. “Uh, Miles?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you close the door?”

“Yeah why?

“Why? Because we are locked in.”

“What?” Miles manhandled the door handle, but nothing budged, “What kind of door can’t be unlocked from the inside?”

“A broken one, dumbass. That’s why I had the plank holding it open.” Tristan motioned to the block of wood that now sat purposeless in the middle of the room.

“How do you break a door?”

“Is that really the question you should be asking right now?”

Miles assumed position on the least stained cushion of the sofa, hearing it creak as he sat. With his head in his hands, he glanced at the other boy. Tristan paced up and down the aisle before going over to the door and slamming his first against it repetatively. Not only was it an increasingly annoying and unnecessary action, but it also continued for the next five minutes. The stamina of that boy was impeccable.

“Would it kill you to stop banging on the door?” Miles snapped from his seat on the couch. “It’s no use anyway. Everyone is in class.”

Tristan twisted to glare at him, “Well, maybe somebody skipped. Or is going to the bathroom.”

“Well, ‘maybe’ isn’t a good enough reason to break your fist. And nobody walks past this room even during passing time.”

“I’m fine, thank you very much.”

“Just come sit down,”  was Miles peaceful suggestion. Tristan reluctantly walked over, arms crossed, and sat on the farthest edge of the sofa. “Can we please talk?” Miles sighed.

“I have nothing to say to you,” which wasn’t true. Tristan had a lot of things to say. He had a lot of anger, and questions, and most of all he just plain wanted to tell Miles off for being an insensitive dickface. He thought by breaking things off the way he did that everything was said, yet with everyday that passed, more things piled up in the back of his mind. After the thing with Yates, he made a rule of never letting anyone manipulate him ever again, and that’s exactly what happened.

Miles could tell Tristan wanted to be stuck in the room with him as much as he wanted to be stuck in a cage with lions. “Try texting someone. They’ll get it and come rescue us by passing time.”

“I can’t, I left my phone in my bag in my locker. Why can’t you do it?”

“My phone’s dead.”

“Great, really Miles,” Tristan said, his voice increasingly hysteric. “Leave it to you to make things so much harder than they have to be.”

“I could say the same for you.”

The clock ticked repetitively, though it seemed to speed up and slow down, as time passed. Both had accepted their fate; they would have to wait until someone came and discovered them. It was expected of them both to skip class or be absent and neither of them were top priority of anyone at the moment so the chances of someone actively searching were slim.

Eventually, Tristan decided to explore the area while he could, opening random totes and boxes in search of anything to pass the time. In his mind, anything was better than talking to Miles who had managed to turn himself upside down, his legs thrown over the sofa and his head hanging freely off the edge. As for Miles, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Tristan was cold and ruthless, but someway, somehow he was still the same Tristan. He still had the habit of tapping his foot impatiently and holding his wrist up when he talked. Sure he was a little guilty of watching his every move, but he couldn’t resist. Aside from not really wanting to talk more than a few words, Tristan didn’t exactly mind the other boy’s company either.

“Okay it’s been like over an hour. Everyone is in their next class already.”

“Calm down, Tris.”

With the slip of his nickname, Tristan winced. His ex wasn’t the only person who referred to him as that, but it was different to hear it roll off of Miles tongue like before. Tristan’s demeanor was visibly calmer when he asked probably the most panicky question ever, “What if we like die together in here? What if no one comes and we starve to death?”

“Then we’ll be the last people either of us talk to.”

“Way to be brutally honest.”

“Here, how about I tell you a story? It’ll take your mind off of your inevitable death.”

“I’m not sure I have a choice,” there was a pull at the corner of Tristan’s lip.

“So here it goes. Once upon a time, there was a boy-”

Tristan cut him off, “What is this, a bedtime story?”

“Do you wanna hear it or not?” Miles wasn’t quite sure where he was going with it, but a little something came to mind.

“Carry on.”

“So there’s this boy, who lives with his mom and his younger siblings and he also lives with a monster. And this monster is a total dick,” Miles earned a small smile from the other boy, “The monster gives the boy impossible tasks because all the monster cared about was impressing the other monsters.”

“The monster kind of sounds like your dad,” Tristan joked.

Miles ignored the comment and continued because there was something he needed to say, “When the boy wouldn’t do what the monster asked exactly how it asked it would get angry and yell, so the boy asked for help and everyone told him to try harder so that’s what he did,” words were spilling from his mouth, “But that didn’t work and the monster just got angrier. That’s when the boy decided, why not just stop trying at all? Ya know? Show the monster he can’t be controlled. Yet the monster came back with equal force, not hurtful words or defiance, but actual violence. The monster pushed and shoved and hit the boy because maybe-”

“Miles, stop!”

“It’s just a story, chill.”

Tristan shook his head, pain in his eyes, “If it’s just a story, then why are you crying?”

“I’m not,” Miles glanced up at him just as a tear rolled off his cheek and onto the sofa. And here was Miles, unsure of when he started crying, feeling relieved and terrified all at once.

“Miles, why don’t you start from the beginning? The real story this time? I promise I’ll listen.”

It seemed like forever that the boys sat there, Miles spilling his thoughts, Tristan just nodding and asking questions. This felt like Paris and poolside talks and everything all at once.

“I’m sorry you went through all this shit. I had no idea.”

“No, it’s my fault. Not the abuse, it’s my fault for not telling you. You were there for me. I guess I was afraid of dragging you into my mess. You were kind of an escape from it all, you know, and maybe I wanted to keep you like that.”

“So uh,” Tristan thought for a moment about what he’d say next. Something about the way Miles talked about him left him at a loss for words. “Are things better now at home?”

“Um, yeah, for the most part. My siblings were on my side and my mom didn’t take much convincing.”

“I bet Maya’s a big help, too.”

Miles didn’t flinch when her name was mentioned, but he was more disappointed than anything that the conversation had taken the inevitable turn. The other boy’s voice was trying so hard to sound positive, and it kind of hurt to watch him come to terms with this perceived reality. “Tristan.”

Tristan grinned wildly and spoke casually “Oh, I’m sorry, is weird talking about your crush with your ex?” Miles cringed at the word ‘ex’.

“Look, Tris, Maya’s amazing.”

“I’m glad to hear th-”

Miles cut him off in a flustered burst, “But she’s not you.”

“But you like her.”

“I never said that.”

“You never said anything!”

The two sat speechless in the moment, Tristan’s false grin falling. Miles held his gaze for a second longer before letting out the only word he could think to say, “Sorry.” He didn’t ask if he was forgiven and didn’t expect a reply. “You know, if we don’t die in here today, I wish things could go back to how they were before, with us.”

Tristan looked up from his lap, “You mean like friends? Or boyfriends?”

Miles sighed and leaned back into the squeaking cushion, “I mean like anything. Whatever you want.”

“We’ll just have to wait and s-” There was a click from across the room, the almost distinct turning of the door handle. Tristan jumped to his feet with a relieved expression. Spinning back to face Miles, he asked, “Aren’t you coming with?”

“Yeah.” They were going to have a hell of a time explaining where they’d been.


End file.
